


Maelstrom

by 17734



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bickering, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, Passive-aggression, Pretty Dresses, psychological attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17734/pseuds/17734
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It occurs to Orsino that he has never learned how to swim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tide

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is more psychological, like Lethal Addictions. I'm taking a break from light-hearted fics. This will also be multi-chapter.  
> Just as a note, Orsino briefly flirts with an OC but he is just using her to get information. The pairing is...explicitly Meredith/Orsino, as always.  
> Enjoy! ^^~

For every problem, there were multiple potential solutions.

  
First Enchanter Orsino was a clever man. He had grown up in the unforgiving confines of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi and faced all of its consecutive challenges: his peers slain before his eyes, his apprentices made Tranquil, the occasional templar leering at him and trying to coax him for sexual favors. The obvious response to these offenses was to snap in a fit of rage, summon a hoard of demons and slaughter people indiscriminately with blood magic. Orsino preferred a more…subtle approach.

  
Brilliant magical research could be used to shield his comrades. Extensive tutoring and careful conversations on walks through the Gallows courtyard could save apprentices. As for the templars, they were only mortal. Mortals were especially vulnerable to poison, or blackmail, or bribery. After decades of quiet manipulation, he had practically perfected his method.

  
Summarized, Orsino did not need demons to fulfill his desires. He had patience and machinations. He reminded himself once more of this, gripped his quill tightly and banished the whispers on the edge of his conscious. Hatred, fear, anguish, spite, lust and fury all gave way for logic. He had to be logical. If he bided his time, the right opportunity would present itself.

  
There was a knock on the door of his office.

  
Orsino straightened at his desk, rubbing wearily at his eyes and fixing his face in a warm expression. He was expecting this visitor; with luck, his patience would finally bear fruit today.

  
“Come in,” he called.

  
A Chantry sister slipped into the office, smiling at the sight of him. She was somewhere in her late thirties, streaks of gray in her brown hair. Her face was weathered and plain, lines around her misty eyes. Even in the ornate robes of her position, she looked awkward and shy. Her hands belonged to a scholar, fingers stained in ink.

  
“Sister Ashli,” Orsino greeted, his gaze softening. He rose from his seat, chivalrously offering her the chair across from his desk. She flushed slightly, sitting down with a soft word of thanks. He seated himself once more, leaning across the desk to her. “It is so good to see you again, Sister,” he told her.

  
“And you, Orsino,” she murmured, glancing very briefly into his eyes. “I know I’ve asked you to call me Ashli.”

  
“Ashli,” he indulged her. “I adore the very syllables but in this desolate prison, it seems almost painful to speak a word so precious. I fear to have the light of your company taken from me.”

  
She melted, smitten and flustered as she wrung her hands. “First Enchanter,” she breathed.

  
Sister Ashli read too many books. Once certain ideals of romance had taken root in a person, Orsino barely had to exert himself to cause infatuation. She was lonely and introverted and religious. He flattered her personality, her words and her feelings. Lost for any carnal aspects, the ‘love affair’ felt completely safe to a virgin sister of the faith. He begged her to save him spiritually, a tormented mage besotted with his virtuous savior.

  
Coincidentally, Ashli was the Keeper of Records at the Kirkwall Chantry.

  
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Please, Ashli,” he entreated, letting a bit of his genuine stress and anxiety show on his face. “The situation here grows worse with every day. Knight Commander Meredith has made three mages Tranquil in the past month. I only manage to save a third of the apostates that are dragged in- the rest are beheaded mercilessly. You know I hate to burden you with this but-”

  
“You need help,” she nodded, sobering. She reached across the desk, taking his hand in both of hers. “I understand. The templars are too harsh. I…I did as you asked, Orsino. I’ve spent the last two weeks combing through every record we have. My eyes are going from the strain!”

  
“Forgive me,” Orsino said quietly. He tried to stifle his impatience but the suspense was lethal. “Did you find anything?”

  
Sister Ashli sighed. “There are plenty of templars who have deviated from procedure. I made a list of them all with the details of their transgressions.” She placed a slip of paper on his desk. “It should be useful to you. There is even a Knight Lieutenant who dallied with a female mage in his younger days. With that, I think you can-”

  
“Never mind them,” Orsino dismissed, a little too sharply. “What about Meredith? I asked you for dirt on _Meredith_.”

  
Sister Ashli flinched, wringing her hands. “Orsino, I’m sorry. She’s…spotless.” She closed her eyes for a moment, aggrieved. “No affairs, no illegal lyrium purchases, no disobeyed orders, no disorderly conduct, no _tardiness_ , not _ever_. According to my records, Meredith Stannard has been the paragon of templar duty since age eighteen.”

  
Orsino bit back a curse. He had to control his frustration. Wooing Ashli had taken a great deal of time and the information she procured for him was still useful- it just wasn’t the leverage he desperately needed. He let his shoulders slump.

  
“Sister,” he said tiredly, covering his eyes with one hand. “There are children in my care who are _dying_. Meredith keeps a list of all the apprentices who break Circle rules. Three strikes and they are made Tranquil- not to mention the failed Harrowings. If they are too weak, they are possessed. If they take too long, they are _murdered_ by the Templar Order…”

  
Sister Ashli seemed to be fighting back tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I will look again.”

  
He raised his head, managing a weary smile. “Thank you. I truly do appreciate your efforts. I ask for so much.”

  
She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head. “Your burden is heavier than I can imagine. I am glad you chose to share it with me.” She took his hand once more, pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles. She left.

  
Orsino expelled a long breath, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. All was silent in his office but across the hall, a familiar voice was issuing commands. He listened to Meredith’s clipped orders, the brittle timbre of her voice. Somehow, there was a mesmerizing cadance to the Knight Commander’s speech; the words were strung compellingly together by unwavering conviction, zealous passion and brisk efficiency. She was brutal force personified but her blunt approach was honed with intelligence.

  
She spent her evenings reading books, studying her foes in their own library. She was as well versed in magical theory as any of the Senior Enchanters. This wasn’t the sort of templar who went whoring at the Blooming Rose. She hardly seemed mortal at all.

  
Mortals didn’t somehow continue to _survive_ when Orsino poisoned them.

  
The First Enchanter rose from his seat, stalking over to his office door and flinging it open. Meredith’s door was propped open across the hall, several knights just leaving. She met Orsino’s gaze, her blue eyes as violent and deep as the sea.

  
“Do you need something, First Enchanter?” she inquired, professional and clipped as ever.

  
“You are loud,” he stated, staring fixedly at her in cold loathing.

  
“Protecting the people of Kirkwall is not a quiet endeavor,” Meredith informed him without missing a beat. “I suggest you cut your budget for expensive silk robes and instead purchase insulation.”

  
“Ah, yes,” Orsino reflected, raising an eyebrow. “My wardrobe does seem to be stocked comfortably at the moment. Meredith, how can you bear to wear plate mail all day long in this _heat?_ It looks so heavy.”

  
Her eye twitched. “The better to keep maleficarum from driving ice spikes into my heart,” she informed him, managing to suppress her ire.

  
“Your heart is already frozen so I can’t imagine it makes a difference,” Orsino cajoled. “Why not declare a Casual Friday for the Templar Order? You would be the most popular Knight Commander of the Dragon Age!”

  
“My concern is survival, not popularity,” Meredith stated, leaving her desk to stand in her doorway. She changed the subject. “How was your meeting with the Keeper of Records?”

  
“Not as illuminating as I had hoped,” he replied, “but I’m sure to find what I’m looking for eventually.”

  
“And what would that be?” she inquired.

  
Orsino smiled, narrowing his eyes. “Circle business.”

  
She tilted her head slightly, her maelstrom eyes boring into his skull. “Funny how Sister Ashli has been glaring at me lately. I cannot imagine what I’ve done to invoke her displeasure.”

  
“I’m sure she just doesn’t like people who slaughter innocent children in the name of the Maker,” Orsino inferred, his expression so carefully guileless.

  
“I _execute_ maleficarum and unstable mages for the sake of the thousands of potential victims living in Kirkwall,” Meredith corrected, her voice dangerously quiet. “And some of them happen to be young. You know, Orsino, I’ve lost count of how many times ten year-old mages have turned into abominations, massacring everyone around them.”

  
She stood rigidly, clean metal edges and desperate righteousness. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her face was pale. It was easier to notice her pitiless stare and ignore the signs of strain. Orsino seized upon the weaknesses however, studying every last imperfection. He reveled in the gauntness of her cheeks and the thin line of her cupid’s bow mouth. He adored the subtly silver strands in her blond hair. He obsessed over the tremble in her fingers, when her hand cramped, when the paperwork overwhelmed her and she lunged to her feet, pacing restlessly in her tiny office.

  
He wanted to dig his fingers into the cracks of her ‘spotless’ templar persona and tear her open.

  
“The ten year-olds you speak of did not receive proper instruction,” he quantified, enunciating the words sharply. “They are not to blame for their actions!”

  
“The better that their parents surrender them to the Circle,” Meredith said gravely, stalking closer to him, “before they inadvertently commit atrocities.”

  
They stood a foot from each other, their eyes locked in a silent contest.

  
The sound of rapid footsteps in plated boots halted Orsino’s reply. He turned, looking down the hallway as a group of templars dragged a chained apprentice forward. The First Enchanter’s blood ran cold.

  
“Knight Commander,” one of the templars said, saluting his superior officer smartly.

  
“Report, Ser Rogers,” Meredith said, her eyes on the apprentice.

  
“This mage apprentice attacked two recruits with an illegal entropy spell,” Ser Rogers informed her, “just outside of the healing wing. If Knight Lieutenant William had not dispelled the magic, they would be dead.”

  
“A blessing that this plot did not cost the lives of our men,” Meredith commented.

  
Orsino studied the face of the apprentice. The boy was named Jarret, a skinny human with blond hair and merry eyes. He was a prankster. The most evil act he had ever commited was truancy, or perhaps putting itching powder in an Enchanter’s socks. His name was already on Meredith’s strike list but even the threat of Tranquility had not curbed Jarret’s mischief. He was innocent, light-hearted and careless.

  
His expression was not so carefree now.

  
“What happened, Jarret?” Orsino asked the boy quietly.

  
The apprentice was slouched between two templars, his hands shackled behind his back and his face pale. “First Enchanter,” he said tremulously, “please. I didn’t mean to attack anyone! I was- I was just making Senior Enchanter Faer’s hartlilies rot. I chose that spell because it was quick. I didn’t have much time, see, and then the templar recruits just came around the corner- the spell hit them on accident! It was supposed to be a joke- I-”

  
“That is a terribly well-worn excuse,” Meredith cut him off. “I suppose you never considered that the spell might cause the same decay in human skin that it affects in plants?”

  
“Please,” the boy begged, practically hysterical. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean it!”

  
“How many times have I told you to cease these pranks?” Orsino breathed, suppressing the urge to scream, or break down and weep.

  
“He will be executed tomorrow morning,” Meredith concluded.

  
“ _Unacceptable!_ ” the First Enchanter snarled.

  
She ignored him. “Lock the deviant up for the time being,” she instructed her knights. “There is no need for him to stand here looking tragic while Orsino raves at me.”

  
Orsino let his eyes fall shut, isolating himself for just a moment. He could not let this happen. He could not let another life slip through his fingers. The apprentices were foolish, of course they were- they were young! How could they be held to a standard of perfection, of _wisdom?_ They possessed none. They blindly gambled their lives and the consequence was death!

  
It wasn’t fair. It was heartbreaking.

  
When Orsino opened his eyes, Jarret had already been taken away. He turned and faced Knight Commander Meredith. He would strike a deal with her or indeed, rave at her until she relented. Meredith was not the relenting type but he had to try. He always tried.

  
It was going to be a long night.

 

o0O0o

 

 _“Let’s assume, hypothetically, that this apprentice of yours really was playing a prank…rotting hartlily flowers with an illegal spell,_ just because. _I suppose it makes sense, given his record. How many pranks like this has he played?”_

  
_“Countless, Meredith. I assure you, this was not an attack on the Templar Order. He is telling the truth.”_

  
_“So he does not intend to cause harm with his gross carelessness. Nevertheless, harm was done. Have you see the recruits, Orsino?”_

  
_“No, I have not seen them.”_

  
_“The spell was stopped before it could kill them but a good portion of their skin began to decay. The healers will be able to reverse this process, thankfully, but it will still be excruciatingly painful.”_

  
_“Jarret_ does _deserve punishment, I concede. He has crossed a line. Until now, none of his practical jokes were dangerous.”_

  
_“A negligent mage is equally as lethal as a malicious one.”_

  
_“He will learn his lesson if you let him survive it. Hear my proposal, Knight-Commander.”_

  
_“I am listening.”_

  
_“Drag him out to the executioner’s block tomorrow. Read out his misdeeds. Convince him that he is about to die. Then bring your sword down an inch from his head. The child will probably wet himself in terror but at least he will be confronted with his own mortality.”_

  
_“I cannot do that. If I spare him, I will lose credibility. All the apprentices will be flinging illegal magic about before the week is done!”_

  
_“Then make it clear you plan to execute the next apprentice to misbehave, with or without my advocacy! They have seen you kill a hundred times before, Meredith. How could you possibly think your_ credibility _is in jeopardy?”_

  
_“You are asking me to gamble a great deal. Jarret’s personality would be harmless in a normal person but in a mage, he is a constant threat. If he does not learn as you say he will, innocent people may die. My own knights, perhaps, who trust me to lead them!”_

  
_“Then add extra punishments, a parole period. Whip him if he strays from the Maker’s path. Just don’t kill him!”_

  
_“I could make him Tranquil instead. Would that satisfy you?”_

  
_“Of course not! That’s even worse!”_

  
_“Sweet Maker! Do you know how late it is? He has sealed his fate. I see no reason for me to risk compromising everything just for one stupid boy.”_

  
_“You will have my eternal gratitude.”_

  
_“As if sparing one apprentice will make you forget the fifty that have died in the past decade.”_

  
_“Then what do you want in return? To see me beg on my knees?”_

  
_“As stimulating as that would be.”_

  
_“…What did you say?”_


	2. The Wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback and support! ^^ Here is the next chapter. My apologies for holding the smut hostage like that. No matter. Enjoy!

Orsino stared hard at the plain wooden door in front of him. It was a foreboding door, as if the unadorned planks of wood existed for the sole purpose of warning fool mages away. Dread curled in the First Enchanter’s stomach, making him weak. He was no stranger to pain. He was not in the habit of throwing himself beneath the raking claws of lions either.

  
A child’s life was at stake.

  
He swallowed his loathing, his fury, his panic. The emotions crammed together, locked into a tiny portion of his heart and seeping out through the cracks. The end result was a steady trickle of fear, gray in color and nauseating.

  
He knocked, gripping his staff tightly.

  
“Come in,” Meredith called from inside the room.

  
The Knight Commander’s quarters were barren. While Meredith possessed four spacious rooms with plenty of windows and fireplaces, her interior design was obsessively minimalistic. She could afford velvet curtains and rich fur rugs but instead, there was gray cotton and woven mats. Her furniture was in good condition but unlike the ornately carved woods of the Circle, it was simple and bare. Everything was perfectly clean and organized, not a spot of dust on the bookshelves.

  
Meredith herself sat before the fire, a goblet of red wine in one hand as she stared distantly into the flames. She was dressed in a linen robe which was tied over a shift. Her feet were bare, veins blue and green in her ankles. She looked smaller without her armor, and softer. The flickering light caressed her form every which way, pooling on the curves of her body and tracing her powerful limbs. Her hair fell unbound around her shoulders, a halo of spun gold. Orsino drank the sight in, morbidly fascinated. Oh, if their positions were reversed, if only _he_ had the leverage, then-

  
“Wine?” she asked politely, gesturing to a table at the side of the room. A bottle of spirits sat there, along with a second goblet.

  
“Thank you,” Orsino replied stiffly, moving to pour himself a cup.

  
“I honestly didn’t think you were coming,” she commented, a wry smile twisting her mouth.

  
“These were your terms,” he murmured, his back to her. “I would not let the boy die.”

  
“No, you wouldn’t,” she agreed.

  
He barked out a laugh, mirthless as it was. The wine was an excellent vintage, burning his throat when he took a deep gulp. “Your request makes sense, in a strange way,” he told her, mesmerized by the firelight glinting in the goblet. “It’s all about power, for you- to finally crush me beneath your heel and show me my place. If you simply wanted a mage in your bed, there are younger and more attractive targets.”

  
Meredith rose from her place by the fire, her movements silent. The shadows on the walls were the only thing that betrayed her approach. Without her armor to weigh her down, she was sinuous and graceful. The metal casing was a symbol of order, a barrier against demons and abominations. She was fast in a hundred pounds of steel. Orsino did not want to think about how fast she might be without it.

  
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Orsino,” she told him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. “You have aged very gracefully.”

  
“Certainly there were plenty of templars after me twenty years ago,” he replied, drinking again. Even the stinging taste of alcohol was not enough to calm him. He tried to speak casually but his voice brimmed with tension. “If I remember correctly, young Ser Stannard only ever tripped me in the hallways and knocked books off my desk.”

  
“A failed attempt to teach you humility,” she justified, standing only inches from his back. She reached up, her calloused fingers wrapping around his staff. He held on, his knuckles turning white.

  
“Petty bullying,” he scorned.

  
“Let go,” she instructed quietly. “You won’t be needing this.”

  
He expelled a ragged breath, closing his eyes tightly. He was trying not to think but the memories were too strong. Once, a captured apostate had lunged at Meredith in a corridor, hands bleeding and distorted with unholy power. Meredith had caught him around the throat, white fire searing out to drain his magic even as she bashed his head in against the wall. She had not drawn her sword. She hadn’t needed to. She could kill with her bare hands.

  
She was going to take all of her spite out on him tonight. After every time he had fought her, he could only imagine how much she had come to despise him. She would break him, beat him, steal the magic from his blood until he was defenseless. Even his pride was forfeit in the face of this _humiliation_. His emotions plagued him again. He was furious. He was terrified. He summoned the image of Jarret’s face, letting his grip on the staff ease. Even putting himself at Meredith’s mercy was better than losing another apprentice. He could not bear to lose another one.

  
The Knight Commander took his staff, crossing the room to set it against the doorframe. She returned moments later, taking his elbow. She guided the reluctant mage from the sitting room, drawing him through the suite.

  
“Not even a painting to add some life to this place,” Orsino noted bitterly.

  
“A disciplined lifestyle requires simplicity,” Meredith informed him, shutting the bedroom door behind them. “I wake up early every day. I eat only bread and vegetables. I give three fifths of my salary back to the Chantry. Unfortunately, I cannot cope without books and wine. To think you mages _complain_ about having to read all day.” She turned to him, brushing her knuckles across his cheek. “I think I’ll go mad if I don’t indulge myself this time.”

  
She stepped forward suddenly, pressing her mouth to his as if by compulsion. He stiffened, his muscles locking and his heart fluttering madly in his chest. It felt like a nightmare, dreaming in paralysis as demons tormented him. How often had he stared at these soft, warm lips? He wouldn’t be surprised if her tongue cut like a knife, sharp as her words were.

  
Meredith drew back, studying him closely. Their breaths mingled. Orsino felt dizzy, adrenaline flooding his veins as if willing him to move- to fight, or flee. He held himself still, staring at her as darkness pressed his vision. She dragged her lips along his jaw, an open mouthed kiss that sent fiery shivers down his body. He could only hear his ragged breathing and pounding heart. How long would she toy with him? How long until her wrath surfaced from beneath this veneer of somber fascination?

  
“It’s good that you were born with magic, Orsino,” she commented, no doubt to criticize his passivity. “You would make a terrible whore.”

  
“And here I thought I might have missed my calling-” he retorted sarcastically.

  
“Shh,” and her mouth was on his, tongue sliding insistently to part his lips and delve deep. Her body molded against him, a shocking press of firm muscle and lush curves. He retreated a step only to be pinned against the door as she followed. Her urgent kisses demanded response; he played host to her tongue, twining it with his. He was threatened and cornered, his arms lying still at his sides. Her thigh pressed between his legs, lithe to the curving bell of her hips. He was captivated and allured.

  
She traced the planes of his face, calloused palms and short fingernails against his high cheekbones. Her thumbs brushed beneath his eyelids, moving onward to trace the shell of his pointed ears. He shuddered, turning away. She caught his jaw in one hand, pinning him with her body. Her mouth ghosted across his earlobe and he jerked, denied an escape. When her tongue teased across the blade of his ear, he gasped, seizing her upper arms. He realized distantly that he was hard.

  
Meredith noticed this too, pulling at his high collar to kiss his neck. Her hips rolled against his, her thigh rubbing his arousal. It was distracting, disarming. Heat coiled tighter in his stomach. Her teeth grazed his throat; he groaned, his face hidden in the soft strands of her hair. He didn’t know what to do with this needy but gentle assault. He expected rough indifference and bruising touches. Each moment, he anticipated violence but there was only her impossibly warm mouth, driving him _mad_.

  
Her hands pushed the outer robe from his shoulders and his nerves snapped. Panicking, he shoved her away. She released him instantly and he fell against the door. He fought to reclaim his breath, watching her with wild eyes.

  
“You can leave,” she pointed out, simply stating a fact.

  
He let his head fall against the door, his eyes loathing as he watched her. He couldn’t leave. If he left, she would kill the child.

  
“What are you doing?” he asked instead, his voice weary and cold.

  
“I’m trying to get a skittish elf into my bed,” Meredith told him flatly. Her eyes betrayed nothing. Still, he thought he could see glints of that urgent kiss in her irises, passion seething beneath a calm exterior. Her body was garbed in only a shift and a robe but she was still wearing armor. This entire, fanatically clean room reflected the impenetrable fortress of her personality. Behind walls of hard stoicism, the waves in her heart rushed and churned. He could get dizzy, looking at Meredith.

  
When he didn’t move, she pulled him firmly forward and undid the clasps of his robes. He let her strip him, staring at the bed as his clothes pooled at his feet. She ran one hand down his hairless chest, dragging a gasp from his throat.

  
“Maker,” she breathed, leaning close to him, holding him loosely in her arms. “You’ve been forgetting to eat, old fool.”

  
“Spare me the hypocrisy,” he gritted out, his temper flaring, “it’s _obvious_ that you never sleep.”

  
“Insomnia is an occupational hazard,” she murmured, pushing him down onto her bed. She seated herself beside him, bending her mouth to his chest and caressing his sides. Her kisses were greedy but disturbingly tender. He shifted under her ministrations, baffled, reflexively carding his fingers through her hair. The golden strands looked better mussed, tangled in his hands. Her tongue dipped into his naval; he bit back a shout, smothering the sound in her pillow. His chest heaved beneath her mouth- and she was going lower.

  
“Meredith,” he choked out, sitting up. It wasn’t an encouragement. It might have been a startled question.

  
“ _Of course_ your smalls would be silk,” the Knight Commander said, her lips twisting again as she palmed him through the cloth. “Mages.” She looked up at him through a veil of hair. Her gaze was weighty with a meaning he couldn’t fathom, hidden behind dry humor. She was trying to drive the sanity from his skull. She looked decadent like this, in her bed with flushed skin and her hair a mess.

  
Possessed, he seized a fistful of her hair and dragged her up to him. Their mouths met harshly, tongues battling passionately for control. He grabbed at her, dragging the robe from her shoulders, running his hands across her sides and hips. A breathless moan escaped her, falling on his ears like a feathery caress. He closed his lips around her tongue, sucking hard.

  
“Why play a game like this, Meredith?” he asked, breaking away from her to hiss in her ear. “Neither of us has any time to waste.”

  
She placed a hand just beneath his throat, shoving him back down. He hit the pillows with a thud, bracing himself for a strike. It never came. She merely returned to kissing his stomach, leaving his insides molten and his limbs shaking. She dragged his smalls down his legs in one efficient tug.

  
“What- _nngh_ \- what are you-”

  
Her lips closed around the tip of his cock, eliciting a shout. She pinned his hips with her forearm, running her tongue along his shaft. He slumped against her pillows, stunned and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Wet heat engulfed him again, so tantalizingly good that he thought he might pass out. She licked him, her free hand encircling the base of his cock as her mouth slid over him. Her tongue flicked across the slit, lips returning with a hard suction. He writhed, struggling against her pinning hold as she coaxed more pleasure from him.

  
“Meredith- _mm-hah Meredith…!_ ” Orsino gasped, clawing at the sheets. It didn’t make sense. She was death and cruelty and hopelessness, wrapped in steel and ice; she could not be sucking him off, driving him here only to give him delicious heat, each decadent stroke of her tongue winding him higher and more desperate. He burned, dazed and helpless to the wet pull of her mouth. The room was too hot. He cried out, dry sobbing into the pillows and she hushed him, laying kisses on his thighs. He stifled a mantra of her name but it played out in his thoughts and all he could think was ‘ _Meredith Meredith Meredith Meredith_ ’ and she was the only thing in the world that really existed.

  
She sucked and licked, rubbing her hand down whatever part of him she couldn’t swallow. It was the sweetest torment. He could not last, his shudders devolving into sudden spasms of his limbs. The tension in his abdomen released, flooding through his groin in a wave of liquid fire. He released a strangled groan, his back arching off the bed as he spilled into her mouth. She pressed closer, her fingers leaving bruises on his hips as she swallowed around him.

  
When the orgasm ended, he sagged into the sheets, completely spent. He doubted he had the strength to move a finger. His mind floated, half conscious of Meredith standing and shrugging off her clothes. Her body pressed to his side a moment later, soft breasts and thighs against his sweaty skin. She nuzzled his ear, her breath falling on his neck. Her leg hooked over his hip, the wetness of her arousal slicking against him.

  
Languidly, she kissed his ear, her tongue flitting out to taste salt. Her fingers threaded soothingly through his hair. Her hips rolled in slow circles, her spilling wetness causing echoes of pleasure in his cock. She hummed against his neck, a low moan reverberating in her throat as she slipped one hand down her body.

  
“Meredith,” he rasped but she hushed him again, pulling him into a needy kiss. He tasted himself on her tongue. Her hips moved faster, two fingers fondling her clit as she ground against his thigh. She panted into his mouth, a low whine making her breathing stutter. She was nearly on top of him by the time she came, her arousal smeared across his thigh and hipbone. Her body seized above him, flushed and wracked with pleasure. He watched as she finished, studying the way her eyebrows pulled together and her lips shaped his name. The image burned itself into his memory, more compelling and beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

  
Her pleasure taken, she sank down next to him, her arm around his waist. They breathed together for a time, high on the afterglow. Meredith’s embrace was tight, clasping him to her. Her head lay on his shoulder- as if they were lovers, or even friends. He could almost believe it. Spiteful obsession was rich enough in passion to be mistaken for love; she cleaved to him, sighing in his ear, more gentle and attentive than she had any right to be. Where was her hatred? He stared blankly around him, boneless. This room was unraveling his mind and she was spilled out across the bed, naked and warm with her own fluids coating her thighs.

  
It was enough to make him lose himself.

  
He curled into her, his lips against her brow, pulling her leg up over his waist. Meredith stirred, a blissful hum in her throat. Her arms wrapped more tightly around him, her lips returning insatiably to his neck. He responded. His long fingers ran over her body, feeling every curve, testing the firmness of her rear and the pliant softness of her breasts. The heat between them mounted once more, becoming more frantic. She touched him everywhere, cherishing his lanky body entwined with hers.

  
They made love- _love!_ \- this time, or Meredith rode him and he writhed beneath her, trying to endure the unbearably sweet tightness and heat, trying to give her pleasure _as if he cared_. He held her hips, thrusting even as she beared down around him, inner walls squeezing. Never had he felt anything so raw, so genuine, so horrifically intimate and real. She stared at him and her eyes were the worst thing, dragging him down into the depths of an endless ocean. He was lost, moaning when her nails ghosted down his sides, his rhythm forgotten when her lips tormented his ear. She kissed him fervently, closer than ever, surrounding him and pulling him with her over the edge. If she decided to wrap her fingers around his throat and strangle him, he doubted he would notice.

  
They might have collapsed in exhaustion after that, or they might have embraced each other again. It was a long night. It was an endless tangle of limbs, searching hands and smothered gasps. Meredith sought something relentlessly, be it ecstasy or tenderness or exhaustion. Orsino was only aware of the pleasure and some distant sense of crippling danger. He was drowned in sheets, arms, legs, flickering firelight and Meredith’s eyes. It occurred to him that he had never learned how to swim.

  
When he awoke, he was alone in her messy bed and breakfast was laid out on the side table.

  
He sat up slowly, aches and shivers assaulting his spine as he squinted in the pale light. Meredith’s bedroom looked colorless and steril without a fire lit. He judged it to be about seven in the morning. The food left for him on the table was a variety of rolls, apple slices and steaming bacon. His robes were folded neatly and hung over the back of a chair. A note in Meredith’s precise handwriting read, _‘eat, and come down to the execution block.’_

  
The execution!

  
Orsino threw off the sheets, staggering to his feet. More aches flared in his hips and lower back. He redonned his robes, hurriedly closing the clasps and buckling the outer layer over his chest. There was no time to think, no time to remember anything from the night before. There was certainly no time to eat. He might have paused to check his appearance in a mirror but Meredith didn’t have one. He ran shaking hands over his robes one last time, smoothing whatever rumples had survived her crisp folding. His staff was still leaning against the door of her suite. He took it, finding comfort in the lacquered black surface and the three twisting dragons at the top.

  
With his composure more or less reclaimed, he left the Knight Commander’s quarters.

  
The execution went more or less as expected. In other words, it was terrifying. Meredith and her knights dragged a white-faced Jarret out to the block, forcing him down to his knees. The knights stood at attention around him, their armor gleaming in the morning sun. Mages lurked at the edges of the courtyard, grim enchanters and weeping apprentices. Meredith summarized Jarret’s crimes and drew her sword.

  
The broadsword was excessively big, Orsino decided, feeling faint as he watched the proceedings. How in the Maker’s name was she strong enough to wear plate mail _and_ wield a blade as tall as she was? The metal gleamed in the sun as she raised it over Jarret’s head. The boy sobbed, his cheek pressed against the execution block and his lips shaping a plea for forgiveness. His eyes were shut against the sight of the basket beneath his head, waiting to catch him.

  
Meredith brought the sword arcing down. The blade slammed into the block beside Jarret’s ear, a perfect inch away.

  
“Mercy,” she intoned.

  
Gasps rang around the courtyard, the mages straying closer in wonder. None of the templars were surprised so Meredith must have already briefed them. The Knight Commander seized Jarret’s elbow, yanking the stricken boy to his feet.

  
“The First Enchanter has convinced me of your capacity to learn from your mistakes,” Meredith informed Jarret crisply. “To be honest, I am not particularly overcome with trust. From today onward, you and all your fellow apprentices will abide strictly by the rules or I will hang your headless corpses on the Gallows walls. Is this clear?”

  
Jarret gaped at her, his pallid face streaked with tears and his entire body shaken.

  
“Tell her _‘yes’_ , boy!” one of the enchanters cried from the crowd.

  
“Y-yes, Knight Commander, ser,” Jarret choked out, his body curling in a cringe rather than a bow.

  
She gave him a push and he stumbled his way to the mages, immediately surrounded by his comrades. Orsino expelled an inaudible sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging. Someone clapped him on the back.

  
“Bless, First Enchanter, you have saved the fool boy!”

  
“Yes,” Orsino murmured and that was the end of it.

  
Meredith met his eyes; a sickening lurch in his stomach pulled him a step forward. She was impassive once more, her expression unreadable. She was walled in professional stoicism but he had touched the edges of her passion, her tenderness, her baffling lack of violence when she had him to break or bend as she wished. Her most illicit fantasies included cradling him in her arms and driving him mad with pleasure.

  
Covering him with a blanket in the morning. Folding his clothes. Leaving him breakfast.

  
He stared into Meredith’s maelstrom eyes and the water closed over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written any more yet but there will be more. At some point. *shrugs* This chapter is pretty conclusive, no cliff hangers, so you should be satisfied for the time being. Thank you for reading! :)


	3. The Storm

Meredith stared over the tower rail, watching as waves crashed violently against the rocks below. The drop to the tumultuous sea below was nearly a hundred feet. The air was salty and tasted of rain. In the distance, the Twins guarded the path to the Waking Sea, their heads bowed and their faces covered. Even in the dark of night, she could tell a storm was brewing. The sky rumbled distantly, its deep voice easier to feel than to hear. The Knight Commander’s mouth twisted wryly as she sat on the tower’s edge. She raised her goblet to her mouth, swallowing a large gulp of wine.

  
“This is hardly the best place for a drink.” Orsino’s voice came from behind her as he stepped out onto the tower roof. He paused a moment to inhale, frowning up at the sky. “Either you’re suicidal or you really want to get electrocuted.”

  
“Plenty of mages downstairs would spare me the trouble of courting a storm,” Meredith replied dryly. “Even you have the element of lightning mastered.”

  
“It was hard to resist, considering how well Templar armor conducts electricity,” Orsino explained mildly. He strolled closer. Still, she did not turn around. “Still, that doesn’t seem like the type of fetish you would have. Tell me, Meredith…are you planning to jump?”

  
She took another sip of wine, looking down to hide her smile. “Why are you here, Orsino? I doubt you climbed all those stairs just to watch the storm with me.”

  
“And why not?” he murmured. “It is so inspiring, when the storm and the ocean clash...clouds and wind, provoking the sea into violence.” She swore she could feel his breath on her neck, but no. It was only a stray current of air, tossed about by the wind.

  
They both had better things to do than spout poetry and ask each other hypothetical questions. There was work, or paperwork, or about a hundred subordinates all with some new, pressing concern. Maker, they could be sleeping if they had the spare time. They could be wrapped in each other’s arms.

  
Meredith stared harder at the waves, her jaw setting. She was not a careless person and she made mistakes very rarely. When she fucked up however, by the yawning Void, did she really fuck up.

  
“Got seventy innocent people slaughtered by thirteen,” she listed bitterly. “Let a shitfaced aristocrat hang my commanding officer at twenty-eight. Now, thirty-six and I’ve _finally_ bedded the First Enchanter!”

  
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Meredith,” Orsino told her softly. “Those first two things weren’t your fault.”

  
“They were all my fault,” she disagreed hollowly. “It’s like I can’t resist. Mercy, Orsino, do you know how long I’ve loved you? I saw you that first day, comforting the mage children the Order brought in, tutoring the shyest apprentices until you knew they could pass their Harrowing. All I could think was, ‘if I’d only turned my sister in, if only I’d brought Amelia to the Circle. We thought she would perish facing such rigorous tests so we hid her. But in truth, she would have been fine, because _First Enchanter Orsino himself_ would have saved her life! Not only did she fall to possession, our efforts to save her were pointless in the first place!”

  
Thunder snarled and snapped, a flash of light illuminating the sheets of rain falling in the distance. Waves crashed against the rocks below, each reaching higher than the last.

  
“I killed her too,” Meredith breathed. “Because you exist, I killed her too. With my silence. My _negligence_.”

  
He said nothing. For a moment, she wondered if he was still there or if he had already left down the stairs. Then his long-fingered hand traced down her back. She leaned into the touch, her soul keening in hunger for it.

  
“We’re all alone here, First Enchanter,” she told him morbidly. “Don’t you want to push me?”

  
Orsino laughed, seating himself beside her. He put his back to the sea, his posture mirroring hers. Her legs were over the balcony rail, booted feet dangling over the churning water.

  
“I haven’t tried to kill you in years,” he told her, leaning in close as if to intimately whisper. “Oh, I want you to suffer. I want you to hurt and smolder and gradually lose your mind. You, falling in love with me, bound inescapably to your duty, your soul bound to the Maker’s service by the blood on your hands…No. I’d never push you, Meredith. I haven’t wished you dead in years.”

  
He seized her hands, leaning backwards over the railing. Instinctively, she leaned the opposite direction toward the tower roof. Their arms stretched between them, taut with the weight of their bodies. The elven mage laughed, his green eyes gleaming and dark with secrets. Lightning illuminated the sea once more, followed by the crack of thunder.

  
“If you weren’t here,” he said, “I would just…”

  
Suddenly, her hands vanished and his grip closed on thin air. He toppled backward, falling over the railing as the rain began to pour down. She screamed for him, reaching after until the tower dissolved and the ocean rose up. His laughter echoed in her ears, laced here and there with thunder and the roaring of the sea.

  
“…fall.”

  
Meredith awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her chair. She was in her office, listening as rain poured down outside the Templar Hall. The braziers behind her were burning low, dimmed by the late hour. She blinked dazedly a few times, looking around the empty room. Pushed aside on her desk was a letter from Orlais she was supposed to be reading. She must have fallen asleep.

  
The dream was still vivid in her mind however. Meredith stood, groaning when her muscles ached and her plate mail weighed heavy as ever on her shoulders. She walked to the door, forcing her back to straighten and her legs to move. She left her office, crossed the dark, deserted hallway and threw open the door to Orsino’s office. He was still there, scribbling sleeplessly away at his papers. He looked up as she barged in, raising an eyebrow.

  
“Meredith,” he greeted, as if they had late night conferences all the time.

  
His rich brown hair was full of graying strands. His face was pale from not enough sun. His body was underfed and aged. Nevertheless, his eyes were like secretive emeralds, his hands were elegant and long. His cool gaze stirred desire and crippling tenderness in the templar’s heart. He was beautiful, damnably so- a brilliant mind, an alluring body and a compassionate heart, sculpted by the Maker and carelessly _ruined_ with the curse of magic.

  
“If I was standing on the edge of the tower rooftop and we were all alone,” Meredith asked him point blank, “would you push me?”

  
He didn’t even pause for thought. “Of course I would push you,” he stated simply.

  
She blinked. “Good.” She shook her head. “My apologies, First Enchanter. My mind is foggy. Good night.” She turned and left his office. Outside, thunder rumbled.

  
_Mercy, Orsino, do you know how long I’ve loved you?_

  
She shoved her emotions back down, smoothed her expression and set her shoulders. There was no time for dreams. She was the Knight Commander.

 

o0O0o

 

Meredith picked the oddest times to think about lemon cakes.

  
Billowing flames flew toward her and she grabbed a shield from the ground, deflecting most of the wild spell. Heat caused distortions in the air, fire licking around the edges of the metal barrier. Beneath her, fallen knights and demons both littered the wooden floors. She weathered the assault, glancing around for her comrades.

  
The unit had consisted of seven knights, one of them being herself, two of them being corpses on the floor. Thus, the Knight Commander had four comrades-in-arms fighting around her, all engaged in holding back shades. The building was a rather nice house in the merchant’s quarter, seemingly normal but for the screams and strange glowing people saw at night. The reports had the Templar Order knocking and now, they were razing through for mages. The crazed apostate flinging fireballs was Meredith’s target.

  
Free of both shades and flames for the moment, the Knight Commander lunged forward. She slammed the shield into the apostate’s torso, releasing her hold at the same time. With both hands free, she brought her great sword arcing down at the mage’s head. He raised a barrier just in time but Meredith’s sword was sheathed in white fire. The holy power ran down her arms, spreading to leech the magic from the air. The barrier failed; her blade sliced neatly through his arm and across his chest.

  
The mage choked, blood splurting out his mouth. His crazed, hateful eyes burned into her as he reached once more for the Fade. Meredith turned her sword neatly with both hands and plunged it down into his heart. His hand dropped, his power dying. She turned, helping her fellow knights defeat the demons.

  
All she could think about, however, was the lemon cake vendor two blocks from this house.

  
Several decades ago- more than two but less than three- Meredith’s mother had possessed a prominent sweet tooth. The local bakery had rich breads that Meredith adored. Her mother had wanted something finer. Every Thursday evening after buying quills for Father and books for Amelia, Meredith had gone to purchase lemon cakes for her mother. This was no nostalgic recollection. The Knight Commander simply remembered, with certainty, that there were no better lemon cakes in Kirkwall; her mother, the ill-fated harborer of a possessed apostate, had declared it so.

  
Once all the demons were dead, Meredith ordered a sweep of the house. Three knights banged about the domicile’s multiple rooms, looking for secret basements or attics. Meredith and the remaining Knight-Corporal attended the two fallen knights. One had a simple head injury and would be fine. The other, a fatal ice spike through his chest. His lung was punctured; he would never make it back to the Circle healers. Meredith spoke a prayer over him then cut off his head. It was a painless death. Still, her heart seized in her chest and she felt unspeakably tired.

  
She thought about lemon cakes, her brain cleaving to the very concept of tart, yellow pastries.

  
Next, there was more praying and more use of her templar abilities to nullify lingering magic. The knights returned from their sweep carrying a pile of spell books.

  
“The house is clear,” they reported. “We found signs of blood magic, however, and a suspicious note. It seems the apostate had friends here in the city.”

  
“Take it all home,” Meredith ordered, glancing about the carnage with a sigh. “I’ll have one of the Knight Lieutenants comb through it and look for leads.” She turned to leave.

  
“You’re not coming with us, Knight Commander?”

  
“I have some business to attend to,” she murmured. “I should arrive at the Gallows only minutes behind you.”

  
“Ser,” they acknowledged, saluting her.

  
She left, paying little attention to the stares she drew with her blood stained knight’s regalia. The citizens of Kirkwall all had different reactions, some bowing as she passed, others quickly averting their gaze. One thing held true however; they all hastened to get out of her way.

  
The line at the lemon cake vendor became nonexistent the moment she approached. A rumor began that instant, no doubt, that lemon cakes somehow warded off demons and unholy magic. Here the Knight Commander herself was buying a box of them, in the middle of the day, fresh out of a fight with magical deviants. Everyone from working class men to prosperous merchants gaped in awe. As she left, people from all over the street hastened to get their own pastries.

  
She could have rolled her eyes in disgust. She hated sweet things.

  
Back in the Gallows, she took time to get cleaned up. Her Tranquil assistant Elsa cleaned the blood off of her armor while Meredith washed spirit essence from her hair. The process took them both half an hour, respectively, and another half hour for Meredith to once more don the hundred pound steel suit. When she was clean and unhappily seated behind a desk full of paperwork, she wrote a note.

 

_O,_

_If you die of starvation, who will stop me from beheading the entire surplus of stupid mages who think they can get away with breaking Chantry law?_

_-M_

 

She folded the note crisply on top of the box of lemon cakes and crossed the hallway. Orsino was out overseeing a class of problem apprentices and his office was empty. She placed the package of pastries on his desk.

  
Feeling marginally happier with her hopeless life, she returned to her paperwork.

  
There was always too much administration to be done in the Gallows and Meredith delegated what she could. Being Knight Commander meant maintaining a presence among her men. She had to run the damned Templar Order but she also had to lead the occasional raid. The week was a variety of tasks. There were Harrowings to facilitate, illegal mage groups to flush out of Dark Town, strategic meetings with the Knight Lieutenants and religious meetings with Grand Cleric Elthina. None of these things happened on a daily basis however. Orsino yelling at her was daily. _Paperwork_ was daily.

  
In Meredith’s opinion, the best way to endure two excruciatingly unpleasant duties was to switch them out periodically. If she got fed up with one, she went and dealt with the other. For the moment, she had to deal with the fact that the various political figures in Orlais never shut up. Kirkwall was the height of Templar power, overshadowing even Val Royeaux. Everyone wanted to get a word in. Meredith had a letter here from the Lord Seeker, from the Grand Enchanter, from the Divine herself and from various other Knight Commanders around Thedas. Every last letter from these important people had to be answered personally; they would be offended otherwise.

  
She spent the next several hours spending every last bit of her patience in order to make her replies professional, tactful and polite. The end was result was still clipped and overly direct. Meredith was Meredith and she couldn’t do any better. Still, she thought, she came across just civilly enough to avoid starting a war.

  
Orsino chose that moment to stroll into her office. She gratefully set aside the insufferable paperwork, turning her attention to his no doubt insufferable complaints about mage rights.

  
“Who told you that lemon cakes were my favorite?” he inquired, his face a mask of casual interest.

  
“I am not obligated to disclose the names of my informants,” she deadpanned. She hesitated a moment. “Did you eat any of them?”

  
“I am still trying to decide if they are poisoned,” he replied seriously.

  
“If I wanted you dead,” she enunciated carefully, “I would throw you off of the Circle Tower roof.”

  
“Yes, you do seem to be particularly fixated on that notion of late,” he commented.

  
He had not come for anything important then. She looked back down at her letter, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Perhaps today was not the best day to deal with him anyway. Ever since…that night…maintaining her composure was more difficult.

  
“Eat, First Enchanter,” she encouraged, picking up her quill once more. “I wasn’t joking about the beheadings. If you pass out from malnutrition, the very first thing I’ll do is exploit your absence.”

  
Instead of leaving however, he strayed closer.

  
“Yet you are giving me pastries now,” Orsino remarked, walking around the desk to stand at her shoulder. “I feel so cared for and protected. To think, my honorable templar warden would seek to defend me even from hunger and excessive work!”

  
“I wish you no ill, Orsino,” Meredith stated as distantly as possible. She ignored his proximity, heading a fresh sheet of parchment.

  
He was silent for a while. She resisted the urge to check his expression. Finally, he burst out in a low voice.

  
“Why ever not?”

  
“I take it you want me to reciprocate your spite and resentment?” she inferred, finishing a lengthy sentence full of titles and other frivolous formalities. “I don’t have the time, that’s why not. Hatred takes too much energy and I have a city to protect!” A bit of emotion leaked into her voice at the end. She pursed her lips, her mouth becoming a thin line. This was too much. He was too much, after all. “If you have no business to discuss, leave me. I do not want for pointless distractions.”

  
“I am an elf, Knight Commander,” he replied drolly. “I have at least two points at all times and on some occasions, three.”

  
She looked up, meeting his gaze seriously. “That’s _terrible_.”

  
“Yes, well, something about your presence just saps the life from a joke.” He casually pulled down her hood, his long fingers threading possessively through her hair.

  
A shiver ran insidiously down Meredith’s spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, her nerves going taut. Oh, Maker, what had she done? Those beautiful fingers traced down her neck, then cupped her jaw. There were no desire demons who tempted so well as he did. Orsino placed a hand on her desk, supporting himself as he leaned down.

  
“Thank you for the lemon cakes, Meredith,” he breathed against her lips.

  
She stood, her chair scraping against the floor and her hand shoving him back a step.

  
“I failed to make myself clear, it would seem,” she informed him, her voice shaped out of brittle glass. “Our deal was specific to one situation and now it is ended. I will not be granting you any more favors.”

  
“A pastry is a favor, is it not?” Orsino asked, his face strangely expressionless and his eyes riveted on her. “I don’t always act on the Circle’s behalf.”

  
Bitter mirth threatened to crack her dispassionate façade. He was suggesting that this wasn't a ploy to manipulate the Templar Order, that he actually wanted her? Her mouth twisted involuntarily, a bark of laughter torn from her throat. “The pastries are not so delicious as _that_ , nor am I so appealing.”

  
He smiled, both cruel and covetous. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Meredith,” he crooned to her, mimicking her words from that night. “Perhaps the next time you need something from the Circle, I will ask for a similar indulgence.”

  
“And perhaps I will break you in half if you don’t leave my office,” Meredith hypothesized, gesturing courteously toward the door. “I bid you good day, First Enchanter.”

  
The way he stared at her could only be described as _hungry_. Her heart leapt up into her throat; she had never seen anything like it. Nevertheless, after a seemingly infinite moment, he inclined his head and exited the room.

  
She slammed the door shut behind him, leaning her back against it and spitting out a string of profanities. She had adored him in silence, enduring his malice for years. She could handle malice. This however, this was the utter perversion of everything they strove to be. Truly, one moment of weakness was all it took.

  
When Meredith Stannard fucked up, by the yawning Void, did she _really_ fuck up.

 

o0O0o

 

_“Now is not the time, Orsino! I have an entire patrol of knights missing along with two Chantry scribes. Mage rights can wait until after I have located the apostates responsible.”_

  
_“I have information.”_

  
_“Concerning?”_

  
_“Your current dilemma, of course. Would I bother you at such a crucial time otherwise?"_

  
_“…And how would_ you _possess information on_ apostates? _”_

  
_“The how of the matter is irrelevant, Meredith. My point is, I have a lead for you: the location of the Anti-Chantry group responsible. If you hurry, you may still be able to save the lives of the patrol.”_

  
_“…I have no reason to believe you are telling the truth.”_

  
_“You have nothing to lose either. Let’s make a deal. I will tell you what I know, you will send your knights to destroy the maleficarum, and when they return successful, you will fulfill your end of the bargain.”_

  
_“I don’t have to_ buy _information from you! If you know something that could save the lives of innocent Chantry scholars, the Maker demands you share it!”_

  
_“Unfortunately, even if the Maker were to ransak my office, my quarters and the entire Circle Tower, he would not find the information.”_

  
_“Your people are not in jeopardy here, Orsino! You have a moral responsibility to help me!”_

  
_“Our definitions of morality do not seem to coincide.”_

  
_“Damn you, mage! I am running out of time!”_

  
_“Then stop being a miser, Knight Commander, and_ pay _for your prize.”_

  
_“…”_

  
_“Well?”_

  
_“…Fine! What do you want?”_

  
_“You know what I want.”_


	4. The Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, last chapter. Sorry about the wait. ^^; I can write banter fast but writing smut just drags on and on. Um, warning, there is like no fluff. At all. o.o;; Serious fluff shortage. I should grab my pet bird and shake him over this chapter or something.
> 
> Update: lubbydub very kindly made this beautiful NSFW fanart for the end of this chapter. If you would like to see, she has posted it here: https://68.media.tumblr.com/7caf15d8bcb32a8e8af808b1eb9faa17/tumblr_ovk7rp433V1uwa9j3o1_1280.png

When Meredith entered Orsino’s private chambers at the top of the Circle Tower, she pretended it was his office. She strode inside without knocking, ignoring the dark, deserted hallways she left as surely as they ignored her. She was dressed in a deep red tunic and leather breeches; she moved with the same formidable power that bore the weight of steel armor.

  
Orsino was not sitting at a desk. His chambers were luxurious, the embroidered fabrics and mahogany woods rich enough for the Viscount’s Keep. His sitting room was softened with deep green velvet, accents of gold thread and firelight adding warmth. There were bookcases all around but the tomes within were disorganized, pages well worn with use, scrolls crammed into any free space.

  
The First Enchanter sat in an armchair before the fire, dressed in a sleeping robe and holding a glass of wine. His position was a mirror of hers during their ‘deal’ a few months ago. The comfort of the room was only the first difference however. While her robe had been white, he wore black fur, the sleeves glinting with silver embroidery. The dark color formed a stark contrast with his pale skin, somehow drawing out the green of his eyes as he smiled at her. He looked incredible, naturally.

  
Meredith crushed her impulse to ogle him, instead wondering how many starving Andrastians she could feed if she auctioned off his excessive, mage-typical wardrobe.

  
He had arranged this scene of lavish informality to discomfit her. She knew this and as a counterattack, created an illusion of their workplace with her body language. She stood directly before him, blocking out the firelight and crossing her arms over her chest. She met his gaze dispassionately. Then she went straight to business.

  
“As you have no doubt heard,” she informed him coolly, “the patrol was reclaimed. We ambushed the rebel group, razed through their hideout and recovered all hostages with minimum casualties. Thanks to your information, two scholars of the faith were saved.”

  
“I am very pleased to hear it,” he replied, gracefully letting her guide their conversation.

  
“Such situations rarely turn out so well,” Meredith lauded him, “inevitable as they are. With this matter concluded however, some…relevant questions are pending.”

  
“Such as?” he prompted.

  
“How you _got_ the information in the first place,” she told him, the words closing like a steel trap. “I would hate to hear that you have contacts outside of the Circle, First Enchanter. A devout Andrastian such as yourself has no business conversing with corrupted mages beyond the Maker’s light.”

  
He tilted his head to one side, utterly unperturbed. “You always jump to the worst conclusion, Meredith,” he chided her. “On the contrary, the newest Circle additions are simply more keen to share news with me than with your Order. An apostate you brought in some time ago had dealings with the rebel group you just crushed. She was my informant.”

  
“And her name?”

  
“Irrelevant,” Orsino murmured, making a dismissive gesture. “‘Dealings’ are simple things like exchanging grimoires or borrowing lyrium potions. She was never deeply involved in the group.”

  
“She knew the location of their headquarters,” Meredith began harshly.

  
The First Enchanter raised one hand. “I will say nothing more on the matter,” he stated. “The Circle mages trust me to protect and represent them. You must trust me to judge their secrets as harmless.”

  
“Whatever our feelings for each other,” Meredith intoned, “trust will never be one of them.”

  
“I’ll learn to recover from the disappointment,” Orsino said, rising from his chair. He set his goblet down on a side table, crossing the room to a set of drawers. He opened one, withdrawing a large box made of thinly cut wood. He returned with it, setting it on the armchair.

  
“Here, Meredith,” he said with a tender smile. “A present for you.”

  
The expression on his face made her breath catch in her throat. She had toiled to keep her feelings about this deal hidden. They were rising quickly however, a dizzying combination of longing, guilt and dread. She wanted to be here; she felt no shame in letting him call the shots, not when she burned for him, adoring him to the point of pain. She knew, however, that she wouldn’t be here in the first place if she had not betrayed her duty to the Maker. She could not be a warden to Orsino if she failed to keep her distance. Agreeing to his bargain had been easy because it was exactly like the last one. With each mistep, she only carved herself in deeper.

  
And dread; the tender smile on his face was fake. Without a doubt, Orsino loathed her. He nearly worked himself to death trying to save children in his care only to have her silence them permanently. The apostates she killed, he could probably forgive- but the children? He loved too freely and deeply to ever understand her commitment to a greater good.

  
His behavior was strange. He should not want this. She had tried to pleasure him last time but even then, she could see the hatred in his eyes. Why would he arrange another such meeting? In all likelihood, he did not intend to embrace her at all.

  
Meredith steeled herself and moved to open the box. An assassination attempt would be tasteless; Orsino had more subtlety than that. Perhaps a slow-acting poison then? A device to inflict crippling injury? She pulled open the lid, expecting to find a writhing mass of snakes. To her horror, the contents were a hundred times more terrifying.

  
It was a dress.

  
The fabric was impossibly soft, silk gliding beneath her fingers like water. What she could see of the folded garment was dark blue, glossy and shimmering in the firelight. She swallowed, removing her hand and carefully replacing the lid.

  
“Why, thank you, First Enchanter,” she recited stiffly, her back ramrod straight. “How kind.”

  
He beamed at her guilelessly, his face a mask of benevolence and affection. Her fingers twitched, the impulse to break something nearly overwhelming her control. Managing not to upend the table or hastily flee the room, Meredith forced a tight smile.

  
“Have I mentioned how well that robe suits you?” she inquired. “I’m nearly overcome with lust. Let’s go to bed.”

  
Orsino’s eyes gleamed, mirth putting cracks in his kindly façade. “Maker, Meredith, are those the sort of lines you’ve used on your other lovers?”

  
She dropped the smile before her face could start aching. “Only when foreboding silk costumes are involved.”

  
“It’s not a costume,” Orsino protested, lifting the-- _thing_ \-- carefully from its box. “Any lady in Kirkwall would envy you for having it, especially considering how much it cost. It was spun in Orlais but mercifully designed without the horror of endless ruffles.”

  
Unfolded, the dress was ankle length and smooth. It was completely dark blue in color accept for thin lines of stitched gold around the collar and sleeves. The embroidery on the hem was more detailed, tiny flowers gleaming with precious metal petals. The skill of the needlework alone was shocking, never mind how much it cost to sew in that much gold. Was that a diamond winking here and there along the hem? Nevertheless, the riches upon the dress served only as accents to the deep blue fabric. Like every sartorial choice Orsino had a hand in, it was exquisitely good taste.

  
“Oh, I’m sure it would look lovely,” Meredith agreed after a moment, “on _you_.”

  
“It would be too big on me,” he murmured, his eyes running down her body, “especially in the hips.”

  
She cleared her throat. “Any Lowtown seamstress could take in the cloth,” she assured him, feeling more and more cornered. “First Enchanter-”

  
He pressed the dress into her arms. “We had a deal, I believe,” he said calmly, an edge in his voice beneath the civil words. “You can change in the bathroom.”

  
She leaned toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Orsino, I haven’t worn a dress since I was thirteen. I don’t even know how to put it on.”

  
“Most of the process should be intuitive, I think,” he reasoned. “The rest I can assist with.”

  
Nausea churned in her stomach. She grimaced. “ _Dressing up_ was not in the deal you specified-”

  
“Because the deal wasn’t specified; it was implied.” Orsino closed the last bit of distance between them, his thumb tracing the curved shell of her ear. “Indulge me. For one night,” he ordered, his breath falling on her lips. She faltered still. “Really, Meredith, going back on your word?”

  
She shoved him back a step, stalking away to the farther rooms of the suite. “I will be a moment,” she warned, her voice gone cold.

  
She locked herself in Orsino’s overly fancy _marble_ washing room, expelling a ragged breath. Glaring at the dress did not seem to comfort her; she glared nevertheless, staring the offensive blue fabric down as she would an apostate. If Orsino wanted to humiliate her, he could have picked a clownish outfit and not this beautiful work of art. The sole displeasing part of the dress was the thought of Knight Commander Meredith wearing it!

  
She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. She was not good with this sort of thing. In the past twenty-three years, she had barely spared appearance a thought. Preening was for mages. Templars fought frantically for their lives against demons, struggling and bleeding to protect the innocents of Kirkwall. If they survived the fight they got mindlessly drunk, wept on each other’s shoulders and maybe fell into bed together. The next morning, it was back to work.

  
Her fingers were numb as she stripped off her clothes. All her templars had survived the raid, thanks to Orsino’s information. All of the hostages had been rescued. In a mire of death, the Knight Commander and her subordinates had something to be genuinely happy about. Now, she had a deal to complete. Meredith had endured everything from torture to griefstricken loss; she could endure a dress.

  
She did in fact manage to mostly get dressed. The deep blue gown fit well, the size accurate enough to be disturbing. The hem reached exactly to her ankle and the sleeves, exactly to her wrists. The top of the dress fit snugly around her breasts and waist. The fabric flared at her hips and continued down in a sleak expanse of blue cloth. Whenever she took a step, gold embroidery gleamed at the hem.

  
She could not get the laces at the back of the dress tied, no matter how she contorted herself.

  
Resigned, she raked her fingers back through her loose blond hair and left the bathroom. Orsino was once again seated before his fireplace, his eyes distant and reflective. She paced up to him, blue skirts swirling about her legs and the back of her dress hanging open. The glossy fabric caressed her skin as she walked. It felt like wading through water. She _hated_ it.

  
Instead of the triumphant smirk she expected, Orsino regarded her with quiet intensity. He stood from his chair, beckoning for her to turn around. He barely touched her as he tied the laces, a brush of his finger here and there until he reached the top. The dress came closed around Meredith’s torso, tighter and more restrictive. Her every breath was resisted by the taut fabric on her chest. She could not fight in this, she thought, the realization coming to her distant and sickened. The skirts would trip her up. The bodice would limit her movements. Women who wore dresses like this obviously did not have an endless line of mages trying to impale them on ice spikes!

  
“Come with me,” Orsino instructed lowly, catching her elbow.

  
He led her to the bedroom, as expected, but he did not lead her to the bed. Instead, he sat her down at a small table covered in various brushes, pins and cosmetics. The items laid out were too feminine to be his. The nauseous feeling in Meredith’s stomach intensified.

  
“You must be joking,” she rasped out, gripping the edge of the table tightly. The gold on her sleeve glinted in the light of many candles, mocking her with its finery.

  
“Hush, Meredith,” Orsino replied mildly, his manner perfectly relaxed. She could feel tension in the air however, humming between them wherever he drew near. He picked up a brush from the table, standing behind her and dragging it through her hair.

  
Meredith blanched. No one had combed her hair for her since her mother, or her sister…Her eyes half-closed, all her awareness focused on the pull of the brush. Orsino’s long fingers slipped through the strands, gathering her hair or parting it. Shivers ran down her spine, her mouth gone dry. She was shaking- partly because of anxiety and partly because of lust.  
When all the knots were gone, Orsino began pinning her hair up off her neck. Some locks he plaited, others were twisted deftly into place. He took little pins and clips off of the table, styling her hair with practiced ease. Meredith stared at the grains of the wooden surface, her back straight as she waited. The back of her neck felt cold. When his hand brushed across it, she nearly jumped.

  
“Here,” the First Enchanter coaxed, touching her jaw, “turn towards me and look up.”

  
He stood over her, mapping the lines of her face with careful touches. He studied her but did not meet her gaze, his expression fixed in burning concentration. His eyes were hypnotizing, deep secretive orbs as glassy as jewels. She wanted to break free from his mesmerizing stare, if only to pull him to her. She wanted him.

  
“Your skin is so perfect,” he told her thoughtfully, picking up a dark pencil from the table. “I hardly need to do anything.”

  
He outlined her eyes in kohl, bending close to her as she watched, wide-eyed. He used some sort of brush to darken her eyelashes, all the while her fingers turned white on the table’s edge. A touch of powder pressed here and there beneath her eyes, hiding the dark circles from sleepless nights. Her lips, he stained red.

  
Finally, he added ornaments- an ebony decorative comb and a silver ear cuff that curled around the shell. He took a step back, his eyes running over her the way an artist studies their illustration for flaws.

  
“Are you finished?” Meredith asked, her voice taut and barely audible. The silence he had woven over her was that strong.

  
“Yes,” he said after a moment. He pointed to the mirror across the room. “Go and see.”

  
She swallowed, tensely getting to her feet. His eyes did not leave her, tracking her movements even as she moved to stand before the looking glass. A stranger’s image was reflected back at her.

  
The beauty in the mirror was cold, a statue made of ice and sunlight. The candles in the room flickered, drawing glimmers from the gold embroidery and glossy fabric. The dark blue cloth was stark against Meredith’s pale skin, the boat-neck collar leaving her clavicles bare. The sleeves were loose and elegant, hiding the sharply honed muscle beneath. Her hair was pinned up, braids and clips keeping the blond strands from obscuring her long neck.

  
The make-up effected the most shocking transformation. Her eyes were already mad with exhaustion, paranoia and lyrium; now, they were accented, their sharpness drawn out by dark outlining. Her stare could cut glass, piercing and powerful. Her eyebrows were elegant. Her lips were stained dark and red, reminding her more of blood than of passion. In the dress, her shoulders looked slimmer, her body blatantly feminine. She did not look like a noble lady of Kirkwall. She looked like a queen, both beautiful and terrible. She looked like a mage.

  
Naturally, the only logical reaction was to burst into hysterical laughter.

  
Meredith doubled over, gripping the mirror frame for balance as hoarse chuckles wracked through her chest. The dress was too tight, denying her breath and making her head light. What sort of joke was this? She did not look like herself at all. Orsino had hidden all of her physical power, binding her in silk and emphasizing the tortured state of her mind. She was completely on edge and baffled. Being in the dark as to Orsino’s reasons, she’d learned, was a dangerous thing.

  
“And what is the point of all this?” she demanded breathlessly after a minute. He moved to stand behind her, his dark image appearing in the mirror. His head bent to her neck, lips ghosting against her skin. She shuddered violently, lust and unease spinning through her brain.

  
“You look beautiful, Meredith,” he said in her ear. She turned abruptly to face him, blue skirts flaring around her legs. Orsino caressed her jaw, his eyes sweeping intimately over her features. “You didn’t even know you could look like this, did you?”

  
“My priority is survival,” she retorted because she knew the excuse well. The look on his face was undoing her however, enthralling her without a spell. She wondered if she had ever desired it- to be looked upon like this, hungered for, adored, _controlled_. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.

  
It was just a dress. It was just make-up and a few lines of kohl. It would come off, they would have sex, and then she would leave.

  
“If you were to walk through the Gallows dressed like this,” Orsino told her, “no one would even recognize you…but they would all stare. You could drown a man with a look, using these eyes.” His lips ghosted across hers, a feathery kiss. The candlelight flickered, shadows dancing around the walls. It was too late at night.

  
“We could have been in bed by now,” Meredith said, trying to steady her voice. “Why waste time with the dress, creating this appearance?”

  
A smile tugged at Orsino’s lips, his eyes tender and gentle. “Because, Meredith, I want to completely and thoroughly _ruin it_.”

  
His mouth covered hers, sealing over her lips with sudden passion. He gave no other explanation, instead endeavoring to steal the breath from her lungs. His tongue was quite effective at it and Meredith gasped, rendered breathless. She curled her body closer to his, her lips quicker to respond than her foggy thoughts. It was finally time for bed it seemed. Arousal pooled in her stomach, her fingers digging eagerly into the fur of Orsino’s robe. Touching him at last was a physical relief. Forboding weighed in her heart. Something wasn’t right about this- if any part had ever been right. Meredith was shaking, bewitched by candlelight, blue silk, the compression of her chest. Orsino had been perfectly calm all evening but as he cleaved to her, held her, kissed her frantically, the façade began to crumble. She couldn’t breathe and he was not calm at all.

  
“Lie down,” he said against her lips.

  
He broke away; she was disoriented for a moment, stumbling when he pushed her toward his bed. She eyed the four-poster monstrosity vaguely, her vision awash with velvet and brocade.

  
“I can’t take the dress off by myself,” she informed him, struggling to make her voice steady.

  
“You don’t need to take it off,” he replied. He seated himself on the side of the bed, pulling her down with him.

  
He kissed her again, intimately and deeply. It was like a fragment of her deepest dreams brought to life. She let his lips trail over her jaw, down to the exposed column of her neck. His tongue flicked over her pulse, making her shudder.

  
“So beautiful,” he breathed into the crook of her neck. Hearing _this_ , she hadn’t even dreamed. Her lips shaped his name, whispering against his ear.

  
Orsino inhaled raggedly and then his composure was gone. His fingers speared her hair, fisting in the plaited blond strands. He pushed her down to the bed, their legs tangling together through layers of silk and fur. He parted her lips with his tongue, received willingly once more through nips and grazing teeth. They both grabbed at each other but his hands were more disarming, tracing greedily over her breasts, waist and thighs. He was a dark shape looming over her, dragging her into the shadows with covetous whispers and searing lust.

  
He found the hem of her skirts, slipping his hand up from her ankle to her thigh. His touch on her bare skin elicited a gasp. She fell back to the soft pillows of his bed, her head feeling light. Blue silk bunched around her waist, revealing long, lithely muscled legs. Orsino kissed her knee, fingers stroking greedily at the inside of her thigh. Meredith sucked in shallow breaths of air, her chest straining against its confines. His hands were firebrands however and it wasn‘t enough. The silk was suffocating.  
“Take it off,” she rasped, turning onto her stomach so that he could reach the laces of her dress.

  
He laid his body over hers, his arousal hard against her rear. His mouth wandered over the back of her neck but she felt him obliging her request, fingers deftly untying the laces. He kissed down her back as he opened the dress, exploring every new stretch of skin. His tongue darted across the nape of her neck, tasting down between her shoulder blades. She waited, stifling moans and harsh breaths in his pillow.

  
He stopped halfway down however, sliding the silk from her shoulders until it tangled around her elbows. Meredith expelled a groan of frustration, the sound turning into a needy gasp when his fingers pressed between her legs. He caressed her there, teasing her through her smalls until she was panting; the dress had scarcely loosened enough to supply her wanting lungs. Her hips bucked into his touch, needing more, craving it. A moment passed before she remembered her arms but she was already too tangled, too far gone.

  
Orsino pulled at her shoulder, coaxing her onto her back so that he could capture her mouth. He kissed her deeply, smudging the paint on her lips, leaving tracks of it down her throat. He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, still tracing tantalizing circles between her legs. Meredith moaned, staring at the bed canopy with glazed eyes. When he pulled her breasts from the silk, kneading and fondling, she arched off of the bed.

  
“Ngh, Orsino…” She writhed, gasping as the wet heat of his mouth closed around her nipple. She wrapped one leg around his waist, drawing him closer, pushing her hips up against his hand. He slipped his fingers into her smalls, parting slick folds to find her clit. She pressed her face into the pillow, stifling a cry. She wanted to scream- _more more more more more_ \- or touch him. Why was she letting him wind her this tight? His tongue tormented her breast, even as his fingers dipped inside of her. She jerked in his grasp.

  
She wanted him beneath her, inside her, helpless but to moan and feel pleasure. She reached out for him, only to be caught by the silk. The silk- the blue silk bunched around her waist, pinning her arms back at the elbows, binding her the more she pulled. She expelled a harsh breath, her hips bucking involuntarily when his fingers thrust deep.

  
“Wait, hah-” She swallowed, trying to catch her breath as she sat up. Orsino slid her smalls down her legs. “I said _wait_ , damn you!”

  
“Temper, temper, Knight Commander,” the elf chided, his voice rough and low. He dipped his head, nuzzling her inner thigh. His lips made a trail upwards, searing brushes of warmth along her skin.

  
“Oh, Maker,” she breathed, shaking her head, “are you actually going to-”

  
His nose brushed the damp blond curls at her center. Meredith inhaled sharply, her legs parting to give him better access. He gripped her hips, dragging her closer to his mouth as he pressed his tongue to her folds. She keened at the sensation, falling back to the bed and trembling violently. It was shocking- his tongue, his clever tongue, pleasuring her like this. She had dreamed of it, arguing with him sometimes, watching his mouth as he passionately articulated his opinions. The First Enchanter’s head between her legs, and her in a mess of blue silk and sheets- she shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be doing this at all. The Maker must have known she would be a complete failure; that’s why he punished her early for it, why she kept making the same fucking mistake-

  
“Ah!” Meredith lost her train of thought, the light suction on her clit blotting out all other feelings. She writhed, digging her heel into Orsino’s back in attempt to get him closer. His tongue slipped inside her, lapping rapidly at her spilling fluids. She gave up restraining her cries, struggling to get out of her sleeves. Orsino licked her mercilessly, coaxing her nerves to higher levels of pleasure and heat. She bucked, past sense, past control. He placed his elbow across her hips, pinning her to the bed. She only felt her hair damp with sweat, her skin flushed too hot, the molten disarming sensation in her core that was just _too good_.

  
She praised him, incoherent words falling from her lips in between dry sobs and shuddering gasps. He was beautiful, brilliant, perfect. This was all she wanted. Her inner walls quivered, tightening around his tongue then his pumping fingers. She didn‘t know how much time had passed when she finally snapped. The orgasm seared through her body, singing in every cell and melting her to the bone. The silk tore, her thrashing finally breaking through the cloth. She gasped, her hands broken free, her head spinning and her limbs boneless. Orsino drew her pleasure out, still licking and kissing until she weakly pushed him away.

  
“…the dress…” she said dazedly, “it tore…”

  
She felt a distant sense of loss, dismayed at the thought of the beautiful garment in tatters. If only he had given it to someone else, if only some other woman had worn it- it would have looked so beautiful-

  
“Of course it tore,” Orsino murmured in reply, moving up to press a kiss to her cheek. “You could tear through _iron_ , Meredith.”

  
She tried working through that comment, her pleasure-drugged brain groping after a retort. So intent was she on explaining the limits of mortal strength that she failed to react when he opened his robe and thrust into her. Meredith gasped and sagged against the bed. His pulsing, hard shaft invaded her, pressing unexpected and deep. Her train of thought was derailed again. Orsino began a purposeful pace; wet sounds accompanied the push and pull of his cock. Every movement tore a cry from her throat, stirring her oversensitized nerves. His responding groans were guttural and ragged.

  
“Meredith,” the mage gasped, pulling her leg up around his waist. She clung to him weakly, feeling tired and removed from her body. What even was this? Bliss? She was somewhere between happy enough to cry and anguished enough to scream. Orsino pressed his lips blindly to her ear. “By the way,” he breathed, “the lemon cakes were delicious.”

  
He hit a spot inside her and she clenched hard, gasping as she turned her head away. Her hips rolled instinctively against him, muscles taut and straining against fatigue. Her vision was blurred by heat and hunger but she still caught sight of the mirror.

  
She could see them both, writhing together on the bed- the mage in his black fur and Meredith in shredded blue silk. Golden thread caught the candlelight, gleaming here and there on their sweaty bodies. Meredith’s hair was mussed, pulled from its pins, blond strands spilling across her nose and mouth. The paint on her lips was smeared, her mouth a gash of red with the stains on her throat. Her irises were nearly black with lust and passion. The beautiful woman Orsino had created was ruined now, just as he had wished.

  
When it was done, Orsino sank down to the bed, watching her with an unreadable expression. Meredith did not wait, sitting up and numbly pulling shreds of silk from her arms.

  
“I understand the symbolism,” she said after a moment. She willed her voice to be brittle, her tone to be cold. The breathy rasp that resulted was not warm, but neither was it cool and unaffected. “Still, Orsino. It takes a demon’s claws to tear plate mail.” The remains of her dress left her with a tearing sound. She stood.

  
“You wound me, Knight Commander,” Orsino replied softly, his voice rough and decadent. “I am merely interested in aesthetics. The fact that you come away from this believing I plan to destroy you, utterly and in every way possible…is a mark of paranoia.”

  
She glanced back at him, narrowing her eyes. Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Clearly. You are an innocent victim of my ruthlessness and I am the mad templar, always seeing plots that aren’t there!”

  
“Lyrium,” Orsino dismissed in an exculpatory fashion. “It has adverse affects on non-mages after too many years.”

  
“Hmm,” she said and made for the door.

  
He sat up, his brow furrowing. “You’re not going to stay?”

  
“Oh, no,” she informed him pleasantly. “I have paperwork to do. Demons to slay. Apostates to behead. You understand.” She shut the bedroom door violently behind her and returned to the washing room.

  
In the privacy of the marble bathroom, she sagged against the wall. Her limbs were boneless and shaking. Her hips ached, overpowering tingles of pleasure still shuddering through her. She wanted to go back, she did. What did it matter if he wanted to kill her? What did it matter if he _hated_ her? And that’s what this entire night had been- a promise, a _threat_.

  
Meredith wiped her hand over her eyes, swallowing thickly. She could not regain her composure again so easily but at least she could put on her own clothes. She got dressed, reveling in the comfort of breeches and a tunic. She washed the cosmetics off of her face, shuddering in distaste. The kohl smeared, clinging stubbornly to her skin even though she scrubbed her eyes raw. Darkened shadows lingered, like bruises around her eyes. Her stomach turned.

  
She left Orsino’s quarters quickly after that, stalking out as fast as she could. If she saw him again- with his gleaming green eyes and his deceptively gentle smile- she might stay. She might cage him in her arms and just take and take, until she went mad, until he really did manage to destroy her.

  
Back in the safety of the Templar Hall, she locked herself in her rooms. For a few minutes, she was still. Then there were books that needed throwing, chairs that wanted overturning, bottles of wine that begged to be hurled across the room. Graciously, she indulged all of these whims until her barren rooms were a wreck- a beautiful metaphor for her barren life. She could clean it tomorrow.

  
“It’s got to stop,” she shuddered. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “I’ve failed enough. I’ll stop this, I’ll stop.”

  
She didn’t believe herself even then. The next morning, watching Orsino patiently calm some mage children the Order had just brought in, she dispensed with the lie altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, they are both miserable and doomed. It figures. Oh well, it was a fun character sketch. If you think it needs more, give me some ideas. Lol.


End file.
